Hypnotized
by SailorCheesy
Summary: England hypnotizes America to fall in love with him, unaware that America may have been in love with someone else, and that person definitely loves him back. USUK at first, end pairing FrUs. (Hehe, FrUSUK.) Rated T for possible swearing, and maybe slight violence in later chapters. I do not own Hetalia.
1. Chapter 1

England knocks on America's door, rocking on the balls of his feet and clutching the handle of his briefcase so tight his knuckles are turning white. He hears someone call "coming!" and a few seconds later, the wooden door swings open, revealing a grinning America.

"Hey England! Whatcha doin' here?" He smiles, opening the door wider and allowing the Brit to come in.

"H-Hello, America." England says, walking into the house and taking off his shoes, then hurriedly moving over to one of the modern red couches of America's living room.

"So, why are you here on such short notice?" America asks, sitting in the chair opposite him. "You usually yell at me when I come to your house with no warning." America smiles lightly.

"Oh, that... Um... France taught me how to hypnotize people after the World Meeting yesterday, and since I'm here in America, I decided why not practice on you? If you're okay with it, I mean." England says quickly.

"Hypnotize me?" America thinks this over for a second before saying, "Well, sure, man. But I'm trusting ya here, so don't make me do anything stupid, alright?"

"Yes, of course," England says, opening the briefcase, "You can pick your own pendant."

America surveys them all closely before choosing a bright blue one. The color reminded him of France's eyes... Why he liked it, he had no idea, but he sure did like it. He leans back in his chair and stares as England, smiling lightly.

"Okay..." England says in a calm voice, moving his hand slightly so the pendant starts to sway back and forth, "Just focus on the pendulum."

America's blue eyes move along with the pendant. He sinks back into the chair a little more. After a few seconds, he sighs, letting his mind wander off a bit. He thinks about hamburgers. Usually, this makes him hungry, but, for some reason, he doesn't really feel like eating anymore, though he had been positively starving just before he let England in...

That pendant is so pretty, though...

Suddenly, a calm, loud voice envelops him.

"America... You are feeling very relaxed," America slumps even lower in the chair, "Your eyelids are starting to droop... You can barely keep them open..."

America suddenly finds himself struggling to stay awake... Though, he doesn't care much. The pendant is just so nice... And that voice is so pretty and deep... It makes him feel safe, protected.

"You are feeling very, very tired..." The voice says.

America nods lightly. Each time he blinks his eyelids stay down for longer... What was he supposed to be doing? Something with England? Oh, well, he would probably remember later.

"Empty your mind... Sleep..." England says, and, instantly, America's eyes close. He was so tired...

"Can you hear me, America?" The beautiful voice asks, echoing around the American.

"Yes..." America says in a calm, sleepy voice.

"Who am I?"

"England..." '

England finds himself smiling slightly as he says, "America... When you awaken from this trance, you will fall desperately in love with me, and you will ask me on a date immediately."

"Yes..." America says. That voice was so wonderful...

"Good. Now, when I say the phrase 'Sunrise' you will come out of this trance. And when I say 'Sunset' you will fall back into it even deeper than before. Understood?"

"Mhmm..." America sighs happily.

"You will not remember I put you under this trance, understood?"

"Yes..."

"Good." England quickly puts the pendant back in the briefcase, then walks out of the house, setting the briefcase in the trunk of his car. When he returns, America is still slumped in the chair, a small smile on his face.

"Sunrise!" England says.

America stirs immediately, blinks his big blue eyes and looks up at England with a small "Huh?"

* * *

**Original chapter posted: 04-14-13**

**A/N on: 05-26-13: This story has now been translated into Chinese! Yay!**


	2. Chapter 2

America blinks, staring up at the British man in front of him. Something feels... Different.

He stares for a second, his heart suddenly beating faster. He feels his stomach fluttering at the sight England's wavy, golden blonde hair, and those piercing forest-green eyes that seem to stare straight into his soul...

_Oh no._

America can feel heat climbing from his cheeks, down to his chin, and up to the tips of his ears.

England stares at him with a curious expression. America's _entire face_ was red. Was this what happened when he was in love?

America opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, and stares at England in shock.

He had never, in his entire existence as a nation, felt this way about anyone else. And it worried him.

Well, he just has to... Tell England how he's feeling, he guesses.

And there was no time to second this guess, because he'd already opened his mouth and asked "Do you wanna go out tonight?"

_That wasn't what I wanted to say! _America thinks, mentally slapping himself.

England, shocked, sits down. He didn't think it was _actually_ going to work.

America, looking rather stunned at the words coming out of his mouth, says what he originally meant to say "U-Um... I think you should go... I don't feel so well... I think I'm coming down with something... My stomach feels all weird..." He says honestly, still not having any clue what this strange illness is.

England stares at the American. Had he never been in love?


	3. Chapter 3

America, blushing furiously, stands up. "I-I feel really weird, England... Like, my stomach feels like it's doing flips, and stuff... And my face is really hot... Have you ever gotten this kind of thing? I think I'm getting sick or something..."

"Er... Yes, I've had it for a long time, actually... But it's not a type of illness..." England says, a pink tint coming to his cheeks.

"It isn't? Oh, cool! ...Then, what is it?" America asks, tilting his head to one side with a curious expression.

_Damn, he's so bloody cute when he does that... Almost like a puppy... _And then, England starts having a very vivid, very detailed fantasy of America kneeling beside him with a collar and addressing him as "master."

He shakes is head to rid himself of this thought and answers America, "Well... For me it's... Love."

America eyes immediately widen. "L-L-Lo... Lo... _Love..._" He says slowly, his hand moving it's way to his mouth.

This was bad. This was so, so bad. If he was in love with England, what would that do to their friendsh—no, it couldn't really be called that... It was more like a family, maybe... Either way, there was just no way that falling in love with England could be a good thing for America, nor England. The Brit was just so... Handsome and sophisticated, whereas America was just bubbly and immature. England would never like him like... _That._

But America wasn't used to bottling up his feelings. In fact, he didn't know if h e could even do that. He was the hero, and heroes were always honest, even if it was harsh. Like the time America actually told a girl she did in fact look fat in that dress. Not his best idea, but still. He would not bottle up his emotions, even if it was, to say the least, strange and stupid.

"Um... Love, huh?" America says, blushing even more, he takes a step closer to the Brit. Then, he reaches out and takes England's hand in his, all traces of a blush gone, suddenly replaced by a stony, serious expression. "You lied, England. This is an illness."

England stares at him. "It is not! I-I mean, it could be for you but—"

"I'm lovesick." America finishes.

England freezes, staring at America, his entire face red and his emerald eyes wide. _That was really cheesy... But, damn, it's really cute when he says it... _Really, everything America did was cute to England. The younger was just so perfect, so amazing... How could England _not_ have fallen for America when everything he did was so innocent and sweet?

"I'm in love with you, England." America says. He takes England's hand and kisses it lightly, then looks back at him "I'm sorry if you don't feel the same, but I can't keep my emotions bottled up inside of me..."

England, momentarily forgetting that America would never be feeling this way if it wasn't for a bright blue pendant, feels the heat climbing all the down his neck and simultaneously up to his hairline, then side to side to reach the tips of his ears. Oh god, how did America manage to make him fall head over heels all over again with a few words?

"I-I... I-I..." He stutters. He never realized how bloody wonderful it would feel to hear America say that he loved him back, that he felt the same way, it was almost too much for him to handle. Plus, America was so close he couldn't exactly think straight...

And so, England finds himself grabbing America's shoulders and pulling him into a giant, euphoria-filled hug that lifts the younger nation off his feet. England spins him around, smiling. "I love you too, you idiot!" He says loudly.

And nobody noticed a man with shoulder-length pure blonde hair and blue eyes, which glinted with tears, standing in the doorway and holding a bunch of roses with a small tag saying: _to America, love the country of it. _


	4. Chapter 4

_How is it that the country of love himself has lost the only person he's_ _truly loved?_

A week later, France is still sadly pondering this question. Having put the roses meant for his love in a vase, he now stares at them, his heart heavy and a frown on his handsome face. He picks the keys to his car and house off the coffee table next to the vase with a sigh, then looks in the mirror. He straightens his white tie, takes a deep breath, and walks out the door of his summer house. Time to go to the World Meeting.

And face America.

* * *

Immediately, France's heart falls to pieces. He had, assuming he was the first one there, walked in with a frown, which deepens at the sight in front of him. America and England, locked in a tight embrace. England's ungrateful hands are entangled in the younger's golden hair, his mouth moving feverishly against the others.

England doesn't deserve America. It was practically treason, to see America with someone who would never fully appreciate him, and it physically hurt France to know that, even though he would never take a second with America for granted, (namely because he did not get to be with America freely without looking suspicious,) he could not hold the younger, could not touch him the way England touched him now, for he knew he would be rejected. This was a fact, judging by the scene in front of him right now. England had somehow stolen America's heart.

He clears his throat, and America jumps away from England, turning bright red. When his eyes land on France, he stares in confusion for a second before shaking his head and moving over to the Frenchman. He sits in a red chair next to him with a giant grin.

"Hey Francey-pants!" He exclaims happily, "You know, you seem different, too!"

"...Different?" France asks curiously, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

Stupid America, smiling that stupid annoying grin that makes him so happy, when he's supposed to be mad and sad.

"Yeah, like... I dunno... There's something missing..." America's blonde brows furrow in confusion.

England places a hand on the younger's shoulder, smiling. "Haha, I wonder what that could be?" He asks, and France can tell he's feigning confusion.

...What was going on? If England did anything to America, oh, there would be hell to pay.

"America, why don't you come with me?" England asks, taking America's wrist.

"Sure... But don't be too long, I want to talk to France for a while." America replies, standing up and smiling happily at France, who smiles back, though this time it's fake.

* * *

"America, can you hear me?" England asks, locking the door, unaware of a certain country leaning against the other side of the door, which lead to a small room that looked to be meant for having tea.

"Yes..." The America, whose eyes are closed and is slumped in a random wooden chair says in a monotone voice.

France furrows his brows. America would never talk in such a boring manner! ...And why wouldn't he be able to hear England?

"Good. I would like you to tell me what is different about France."

The man in question shifts outside the door, pressing his ear even closer. He would like to hear this.

Still in a monotone voice, America replies, "He used to make me feel funny...Like with you yesterday..."

_Well, that's nice_, France thinks, _I make him feel funny... But what happened with England yesterday?_

England, meanwhile, is gaping openly at the America. Could he possibly have been in love...?

"...Sunrise." England says in a stern voice.

A second later, France hears stirring, and then America saying, "What happened?"

Then, he hears footsteps coming toward the door, and he runs back into the main meting room, his heart pounding and his mind racing. What the hell had he just listened to?

* * *

France sighs, flopping down on his comfy white couch. One of the perks of having World Meetings at his place.

He grabs the remote to the TV, but doesn't turn it on. Instead, he throws it at the wall angrily.

How had England, a stuffy old man, gotten someone such as America, a fun-loving, ditzy, handsome man, all to himself? It just didn't add up. America had always thought of England as his brother, and now all of a sudden they were kissing in the meeting room? Something was definitely off.

Yes, it was off, and _not_ just because France was angry about it so _he_ thought it was weird... No, it was definitely strange... Well, for America, at least, it was strange. The entire world (quite literally) had known how England felt for America, long before he even realized how he felt himself. America, though, somehow had no idea about the elder's feelings, even when England had straight up kissed him. (It was a quick kiss on the lips) So why were they going out?

And what had he listened to while he was eavesdropping? That voice... How could it have possibly been America's? It was so... So dead sounding, it almost made France want to cry. America was full of life and love, and it showed in his voice, which was bubbly and happy and sort-of high-pitched.

America's voice was the most beautiful sound France had ever heard. And then when you paired it up with his bright, baby blue eyes, his golden hair, his slightly tanned skin, and his energetic, fun, sweet, caring personality, you end up with an irresistible person. It was almost unbelievable how beautiful America was.

France, though he would never tell anyone, was positive this is the first time in his entire existence that he had felt less beautiful or less worthy than the other. Hell, he was positive he'd never even had to try to get someone, they all just came to him. France may have said he liked a challenge, but... Now that America was a challenge, he had changed his tune.

Because America was his, damn it! And he shouldn't have to run all over the place trying to win his heart!

Not that he wouldn't do it, of course, because he would. He wanted America to be his more than anything else, and, being the country of love, knew that America would be the only thing France wanted until he had him.

And so, he picks up him phone (glam-ified by Poland) and dials a number.

"Bonjour, old friend. I must ask you a favor."


	5. Chapter 5

America sits on the couch next to England, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"England?" He asks, turning to face the Brit.

"Yes, love?" England says, turning to face America.

"Did France seems different to you, too?" The blonde asks.

England falters, a frown slipping onto his face. "Not really... What's different about him?"

"I don't know, really," America says, "He just... I just... I feel so messed up, England... Twice now I've blacked out, and I can't remember what I've been doing, and it's really scary. I think there might be someone messing around with me..." America says in a worried whisper-tone.

"And... How does that make you feel?" England asks, squeezing the American's hand.

"W-Well... I-I don't really know, Iggy... But I'm nervous... I really don't want someone making me do things I don't want to do... I'm the hero, and I can't really be that if I can't even control my actions... I'm just worried... I feel like everything I do is fake... Especially with you..." England winces, "But... At the same time, I really, really, like you... A lot... I-It's weird because I didn't like you like that before... And now... And now... Everything is so messed up."

England stares at him with widened emerald eyes. America really does look scared and confused, like a helpless, lost puppy. And not in a cute way. In a sad way, the kind of sad that makes England feel immediately guilty. So guilty, in fact, that he is about to take America out of the trance when America suddenly leans closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"Promise me that you'll never leave me?" The younger asks, "I don't think I could get through this if you weren't here with me, England."

England, his stomach fluttering and his thoughts becoming confused, nods slightly. "Of course, America. I could never even dream of leaving your side. I promise, I love you more than anything." He says, his mouth seemingly getting the better of his mind.

_Damn, _England thinks when America moves away, _He's so... Intoxicating... Why can't I think straight when I'm around him? _

"I love you." America says, smiling lightly.

"I-I..." England sighs, "I love you too, forever and always, America."

* * *

Two days later, America is sitting down in his house when someone knocks on his door. He opens it up and comes nose-to-nose with Seychelles.

"Seychelles? What's up?" America asks, smiling, "Come to have the hero help you out?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" Seychelles says, throwing an arm over her forehead and turning away from him. _I hope this is what France wanted... _She thinks.

"Huh, what is it?"

"Oh—America—" She falls backward into his arms dramatically, so it looks like America just dipped her at the end of the tango dance, "You must help me—It's France—I just cannot go on a date with him right now—I forgot I promised Hungary I'd go shopping and that I would not miss it—Will you please replace me on the date?"

"A-A date? With France? Won't he be mad? And why can't you just cancel it?" Amrica stutters, his heart doing small flip-flops at the thought of going out with the country of love himself. _But... I'm in love with England... Right? _He thinks.

"Please, Alfred, be my hero!" Seychelles says, closing her eyes.

"Well..." _Damn, she's pulling the hero card... _

"You're the only one who can help me, Alfred! I need you!"

"Okay, okay!"

* * *

France sits at a candlelit table, sipping blood red wine from a crystal glass with an annoyed look. _Seychelles was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago..._

Sighing, he pulls out his cell phone, sets his arms on the table (a more comfortable position to text, even though he has to looks down at it,) and shoots her a strongly-worded text.

Still looking down, he takes a sip of his wine.

"H-Hey..." Someone says.

France looks up, and almost does a spit-take at what he sees. Fortunately, he swallows, and ends up having a big couching fit.

America is wearing black dress pants, a white shirt, and black jacket. Even dress shoes. His hair is slicked back, and he wears a sophisticated pair of glasses. _He looks so good I could eat him... _Thinks France, blushing.

"Are you okay?" America immediately asks, placing a hand on France's back and kneeling in front of him with a worried expression.

Another thirty seconds and France has regained his composure, "I'm fine, ma chère. But what are you doing here?"

"Um... Seychelles... She asked me to come in her place... Said she had to go shopping?" America says.

"Hm..." France looks at him, "In that case, please sit." _Had this been Seychelles' plan? _

America does, and France snaps his fingers. A waiter comes over with a bottle of wine, and pours America some, smiling lightly.

"Est-ce l'homme que vous êtes toujours en train de parler?" He asks. America looks at the waiter confusedly, but France nods.

"What was he saying?" America asks as he walks away.

"Ah, he was simply asking if I had gotten new shoes."

"Oh, okay. So, you were supposed to be going on a date with Seychelles? She's really pretty... Are you guys... In a relationship...?" Alfred asks, feeling a strange pang of something he recognizes as jealousy. But what about England? Why was he feeling like this?

"Non, Alfred it was not a date!" France says hurriedly, wanting America to know that he's not taken, "And Seychelles, though she is very nice and beautiful, is not my type, really!" France wants to mentally slap himself. He sounds so desperate, but he can't help it. He wants America to know that he'd wait forever to have him.

"Oh, cool." America smiles a genuine smile, "I-I... I'm glad..."

France stares at him for a second in surprise, then turns bright red at America's flustered expression. _So cute!_

"But what about Angleterre?" France finally asks.

"W-Well... I dunno what's going on with him.. I-I've never actually been full-on in love with anyone, but then I just blacked out about a week ago, and when I woke up..." America trails off embarrassed.

France frowns, "When you woke up...?"

"Um... I wanted to... To kiss him. It was... It was really scary. I'd never even thought of him like that before..."

"Hmmm... You say you blacked out, non?"

"Yeah, I did..."

"How many times has this happened?" France asks worriedly.

"Twice... One at the World Meeting in that room with Iggy, the other at my house wit him. I think I'm coming down with something." America shrugs, "But I'm the hero, man, so there's nothing to worry about! I got this, y'know?"

When France doesn't reply, America asks, "Do you know if they serve hamburgers here?"

"Amérique, this is a prestigious French restaurant, of course they do not serve those disgusting hamburgers." France says.

"Well, they should!" America exclaims, "How much was this wine?" He asks, taking a sip.

"Huh? Why?" France asks.

"Obviously so I can pay for it! Duh! Geez, everyone thinks _I'm _stupid?" America teases, pulling out his wallet, "So how much?" He asks again.

"Non, Alfred, you do not pay. You said you were going on a date with me, so I will pay."

"You sure, dude? I mean, the date was really for Seychelles, right?"

"Yes... We were supposed to discuss... Plans for something. But I am sure. I don't think you carry enough money for even half a bottle of this wine with you. It's very, very expensive. I only drink the finest."

"I know." America says as the waiter comes back over.

He starts speaking in French to France, who translates it to English for America, and the two of them eventually successfully order their food, and the waiter once again leaves. Soon, the waiter comes back with their food, and the small talk ends between them until they are both finished.

"So... How are things at your home?" France asks.

"Okay," America replies, "England's there a lot now, so I don't get bored, but I don't have any time to play my piano or get online and see my kids..."

"Y-Your kids?!"

"Yeah, my states, man! They're getting so big! It's almost unbelievable how tall Washington is getting! And, gosh, Vermont shot through the roof, too! California's hair is turning more blonde every time I see him... And New York and Wisconsin are officially a couple..." America says, smiling, obviously lost in his memories of the children whom he raised, basically by himself.

"I can remember when you were still little... You were très mignon."

America smiles, then looks at his watch. "Oh, crap! I have to go! I'll see you later, Francey-pants! Have a good night!" And with that, he slams a hundred dollar bill on the table and runs away.

"Bonsoir, porte de mon cœur..." France mumbles, watching him leave.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Ma chère = My dearest_

_Est-ce l'homme que vous êtes toujours en train de parler? = Is this the man you're always talking about?_

_Très mignon = Very cute_

_Bonsoir, porte de mon cœur = Goodnight, holder of my heart._

* * *

**Dramatic ending or what? XD Oh, and guess what? The next eight reviewers can request any Hetalia themed one-shot, two-shot, or three-shot from me, because I'm bored and I love you guys, so I want to write you stories you'll enjoy! Anyway, it can be any pairing, just one person nyotalia, 2p! world, AU, etc.. anything! Just PM me what you want, or put it in your review! :D Au revoir~**


	6. Chapter 6

"Look, England, I swear it wasn't like that!" America pleads, staring at the Brit's back the next day. Briefly, he looks around at England's living room. _So plain... _He thinks, _England really is old... _

"Damn you, git! Why were you out with that bloody frog?!" England asks angrily.

"I was being a hero!" America exclaims as if that's obvious, "I'm really sorry it upset you, but it wasn't a date, really. You know how I feel about you! I'm not the type to—"

"Sunset!" England suddenly cries, then whips around to grab the American's shoulders before he falls over into the coffee table. "Can you hear me?" He asks the American, who mumbles a yes. "When you wake up, this fight will be over, and we will be cuddling on the couch."

"Sunrise," England says, after America says 'Okay', and England has sat down on the couch, putting America next to him.

America blinks rapidly before wrapping his arms tighter around the Brit. "Weird," he mumbles, "I don't remember our fight ending... Or ending up on the couch with you..."

"Huh, that is strange, love." England says, feeling guilty again.

"You don't think... You don't think whatever is doing this to me is... Inside of me?" America asks worriedly, "England, I'm getting really scared! I-I think I'm gonna go home, okay?" And with that, America jumps up off the couch, and before England can call 'Sunset!' he is out the door, the engine of his car started, and is speeding away.

England sighs. This whole thing was really taking it's toll on America...

* * *

Somehow, America finds himself wandering the streets of Paris, France. He glances around, popping in and out of stores for a while, enjoying the fresh air and the time to think. Dreamily he walks, his headphones in his ears, sipping a delicious caramel latte.

Then, suddenly, someone seizes America's wrists, making him drop his coffee. He cries out, and then someone clamps a hand over his mouth, dragging him backward into an alleyway, unaware of a certain Frenchman who happens to be walking past.

America struggles, landing a kick in the person's knee. The person momentarily loosens his grip on America's mouth, and he cries out "HELP!"

Immediately, France, who was walking by, stops. Was that America's voice? He stops, glancing down the alley directly in front of him, he sees a flash of the brightest blue, and immediately, he drops his coffee, turning to sprint down the alley.

America, meanwhile, is struggling even harder, for now two more people have come, grabbing his legs and arms, holding him in midair and carrying him away, rummaging through his pockets along the way.

America growls, trying to bite the hand clamped over his mouth, at the same time trying to kick, or punch, or _something. _One of them slams their fist into his gut, making his eyes sting with tears. He struggles even harder, and then someone kicks his side.

All the air leaves America, and he gasps, trying to gulp in air, a few tears now spilling down his cheeks.

Then, someone yells "Arrêter!" At the top of their lungs.

Desperately, he tries to kick himself free, and earns himself another kick. A cry, muffled by the hand on his mouth, once again escapes his lips.

The people stop, and America is still more focused on gulping as much air as he can into his lungs.

Then, there's a _BANG! _and all of the people cry out, throwing themselves to one side, their grip on America tightening. Something slips from one of their pockets, then metal runs along the surface of America's cheek, and he screams. Then, being in the odd position he's in, the knife somehow manages to slice America's side. It clatters to the ground a moment later, and America realizes a _freaking knife just sliced open his cheek and side._

The person who yelled before says, "C'était un coup de semonce. Qu'il s'en aille maintenant." in a dark tone, and America trembles visibly. These people were going to kill him, and that scary guy was going to do it. At least, that's what it sounded like. America didn't know a word of French.

The next second, the three people holding him are pulling him to his feet, where he catches a glimpse of the person of which America is convinced will kill him, before they grab the back of his coat and throw him forward. For a moment, America feels great, as if he is completely weightless, then the ground is approaching him fast, and there's a mud puddle right below him—He slams into it and groans, his head slamming into the concrete. Immediately, his glasses shatter, blood runs down his neck, and black spots appear in his vision.

France growls, yells something unintelligible at the top of his lungs, shoots of four more 'warning shots', and then, as the people scurry off, looks down. America, who is pushing himself off of the ground, looks as if he's bowing at France's feet. This is one thing France does not ever want to see. America is independent, and should never bow to anyone. So, he quickly scoops America off of the ground, and sees another thing he hoped he would never; America's bright blue eyes glistening with tears.

France, rage bubbling up from within him at the sight, pulls the younger into him, stroking his golden hair. "Are you alright? What happened? Did they try anything with you? I should have killed them! You're clothes are wet, we'll have to wash them! And your injuries! Can you walk? Do you need help? I'm so sorry I wasn't there, mon amour! Next chance I get, I'll have them all thrown in prison!"

America stays silent. His eyes flutter as he looks into France's, and he crumples into the embrace, his head falling to one side. Worriedly, France tightens his arms around America, slowly edging them out of the alley and into plain sight.

"Amérique... You can let go now..." France says.

Instead of letting go, though, America tightens his grip on France, "I don't wanna... You're irresistible." America says, his arms finding their way around France's neck. "I don't ever want to let go of you. I'm in love with you, and I have been for a long time." With that, America closes his eyes, and leans in. France mimics him.

"...France...?" America mumbles, snapping France out of his daydream.

The man in question blinks, looking down at America, whose eyes keep sliding in and out of focus, and he sways where he stands. France hadn't realized America pulled away from him...

"Ah, pardon my daydreaming, Alfred. You should come back to my home, and I can give you some bandages."

"O-Okay..." America mumbles. Suddenly, he drops to his knees, letting out a small groan.

France, also coming to his knees, grabs America's shoulders. "Amérique?!" He exclaims.

America, clutching his side, grimaces. "I-I'm fine." He mutters through clenched teeth.

"Let me see your side!" France exclaims worriedly, pulling at the younger's wrist.

America resist, trying to keep his hand firmly panted on his side, but in his weakened state, France is just too strong, and forces his hand away. The Frenchman gasps when he sees the blood seeping through America's shirt, and quickly scoops the blonde into his arms. "Je t'aime." He whispers as America's eyes flutter and close.

* * *

Translations:

Arrêter! = Stop!

C'était un coup de semonce. Qu'il s'en aille maintenant. = That was a warning shot. Let him go now.

Je t'aime! = I love you! (XD Most people know that, but...)


	7. Chapter 7

France moves into the large room America is in, having ushered England out minutes ago, saying America was tired and needed rest. Though it was just an excuse to make England leave, he seemed to be right, for America was asleep... Though not in what looks like a peaceful one. His legs are entangled in his covers, and he's sweating, his light blonde brows furrowed and an anguished expression on his face. He kicks out, apparently desperately trying to free himself from something. Then, so suddenly France drops a plastic cup of water, he cries out, throwing his arms out in a wild attempt to grab something.

France flings himself forward and grabs America's wrists, shouting, "Amérique!" and shaking him roughly, unable to stand seeing America like that.

America's beautiful blue eyes fly open, widening immediately, he tries to reel backward, his hands moving to either side of his head. France, whose hands are still attached to the American's, lets out a shrilly cry before falling onto the bed, his hands pushing America's wrists into a plush white pillow. Not wanting to hurt the American, he moves his legs quickly off of America's, but is, for some reason, unable to let go of the American's wrists. He smells so sweet... Like vanilla... And his skin is so soft and smooth, and is a nice, lightly tanned color. His blue eyes are sparkling, as they always do, and that cute pink bush that tints his cheeks is so cute... The sunlight, flooding in through the slits in the closed blinds of a nearby window, falls in all the right places onto America's face, giving France the impression that the blonde underneath him is practically glowing. It would be so easy to overpower him...

The blonde pressed to the bed gives a sigh of relief as he sees it's France, unaware of the Frenchman's inner turmoil at being so close to America, and so tempted to do what he would have never even thought of with anyone else... America was just so desirable... It would be so simple to unbutton the flimsy shirt he was wearing, pull off those stupid blue gym shorts...

"...I had a nightmare..." says America in a small voice, turning slightly pink.

"Oh?" At this, France releases America's wrists, pushing himself away. Immediately, his thoughts seem to clear. What had he been _thinking_, to do something so vile to someone so pure, so full of life and love... _Damn America and his perfection... _"Do you wish to talk about it?" France asks in a soft voice, sitting on the very edge of America's bed so as not to tempt himself.

America, sighing, pushes himself up into a sitting position. "Nah, it was just a stupid dream. What's for lunch?" He grins.

"_You _get vegetable soup. You're still weak, and you need food that will make you strong."

"Whaaaaat!?" America pouts, "So not fair, man! I'm a grown man, and I can eat whatever I want, when I want to! You can't tell me what to do!" And with that, he attempts to push himself out of the bed, immediately restrained by France, who has gotten up and grabbed his wrists again.

"_Alfred. _I will not hesitate to staple you to this bed and make you." He says in a somewhat dark tone, and Alfred, gulping nods.

"O-Okay..." the American says, frowning.

France smiles. "Bon. I will be back soon. Don't try to get up again. You could get hurt."

* * *

When France comes back again, he discovers America has listened to him, staying in his spot, but he's fallen asleep, this time with his head lenead against the wooden backboard of the bed, and is mumbling things in his sleep.

"...France..." He whispers.

"Eh?" France tiptoes closer to America.

"...France..."

"What is it, Amérique?" says the Frenchman in a whisper tone.

"GOTCHA!" America yells.

France screams, holding onto the bowl of soup in his hands tightly.

"Haha, your scream was totally girl, dude!" America laughs boisterously.

France smiles, laughing along with him, and the sound is so utterly delightful to America that before he can stop himself, he smiles and blurts, "You're pretty cute!"

* * *

Translations:

Bon = Good.


	8. Chapter 8

France puts a hand to his cheek, his entire body swaying, his entire face as red as a tomato, the door slowly swings shut behind him, and then he lets out a squeal. Still holding his cheek, he falls backward onto his couch, his entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, a blissful smile on his handsome face and his bright blue eyes sparkling. His heart is pounding so loud and fast he's sure the neighbors can hear it as it races away from him. Grinning, he slowly pulls his hand away from is face, looks at it, then puts it back on his cheek.

Because America had kissed his cheek before he left.

* * *

"Hey, England?"

"What, twat?" England asks, setting down the book he was reading with an annoyed expression. It softens a little when he sees the bright smile on his face, and feels his annoyance dissolve, though he tries to scowl anyway, just to show America that he wouldn't give into his incredible charm so easily.

"Wanna come to the carnival with me?" America asks.

England looks at America thoughtfully. "The carnival?"

"Yeah, man! I already asked France, and he said he would love to! So, do you wanna come with us? I'd be really happy if you did! Maybe we can share a cotton candy or something?" America asks, turning bright red, "...And they have all kinds of couples' stuff that we can do and all that... Mattie's coming along, too..."

"...Mattie?"

"Yeah, you know, my brother, Matthew?" When England gives America a confused look, he adds, "_Canada. _Right above me. You knew him before you knew me! He helped you in the war! There's a maple leaf on his flag, he always has this pet bear, he looks a lot like me..."

"Oh! Right, right, I remember the lad now..."

"So? Are you coming?"

"...Yes." England says, frowning. France would surely try something with _his _America if he didn't come along. _Everybody_ knew France wanted America for himself, except for America, of course. And that was the way England intended to keep it. If America found out... He had told England he had been starting to feel like _that_ towards France when he had been under... What if America ran off to France instead?

"Sweet! It's going to be so much fun!"

* * *

A week later and France, Canada, and England are meeting in the airport. (America's idea. England and France were roped into it because of the cute smile on his face, Canada because he didn't really care either way, as long as there wasn't too much arguing.)

"So, you two like America, eh?" Canada asks with a scrutinizing stare at the two of them.

"H-How do you know?!" Asks France at the same time England says "_I'm _his boyfriend!"

France whips around and glares at England with hatred. "Yes, well, not for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" the Brit exclaims angrily, grabbing France's shoulders.

"It _means _that you should be careful. Precious things have a tendency to be stolen." France replies calmly, a matter-of-fact smile on his face.

Canada sighs. "This is going to be a long weekend..." He mumbles to himself.

* * *

"Hiya dudes!" America calls, swinging the door to his house open wide. "Hope you don't mind that it's a little messy... I got bored." He says sheepishly.

"A little messy is an understatement." Canada says, and America grins.

In the middle of the room is a glass coffee table, which is piled high with comic books, magazines, classic books, some DVD's and CD's, and various video games. On the floor are an abundance of board games, toys, and other things, including a _Rubix Cube, Candyland, Chutes and Ladders_, a few puzzles, four different bags of miscellaneous marbles, army action figures, a _Hot Wheels _racetrack with five cars currently speeding down it, _Legos _all over the floor, an _Etch-A-Sketch_ with a drawing of Lady Liberty, which Canada snaps a picture of, (he likes awesome things, okay?) eight cans of silly putty, at least ten empty cans of _silly string, _which contents cover the ceiling, the half of the floor that's not covered in _Legos _is covered in popped bubblewrap, there are various slinkys of all sizes and colors scattered around, lots of _Nerf _guns, a pogo stick, a _Lite Brite, _three _Tamagotchi _pets, a bowl filled with sea monkeys, a skateboard, and a BB gun. On one wall are random dart boards, all filled with darts, most of which are close to or on the bulls eye, on another are eight flat screen TV's of which are playing all the different _Harry Potter _movies. On another wall is fifty pictures of fifty different children—this wall has no signs of having been touched, as America has great respect for his children (states) and doesn't like any harm to come to their pictures. On the last wall is random paint splatters, presumably from a paint ball gun that had been discarded in America's boredom. America's entire couch is filled with multiple blankets, wrappers from candy, books, and ten iPods, all blaring music full blast through their headphones.

"_Jesus, America! _How do you even do this?!" England asks, staring at the screen that shows Harry and Ginny lip-locked. He smiles, "I do love these movies..." He muses.

"Yeah, they rock!" America grins, staring at the screen also. A minute later, he blinks, seeming to come to reality, and takes England's hand in his, intertwining their fingers and moving a step closer to the Brit, his face turning a light shade of pink.

France frowns.

"Want me to take your bags?" America asks after a few minutes of leaning against England.

"That would be nice, thank you." Says Canada, moving to his brother and handing the American his two bags.

America smiles brightly, "Of course, my dear brother, you would like the room you always have? You know, the room I caught you and Prussia—"

"Say another word and I'll skin you alive, _Alfie._" Canada says in a sweet tone, gripping America's shoulder tightly.

America whimpers slightly and walks out, grabbing England's bags and saying "I'll just put yours in our room, alright?" England had turned a shade of bright red, nodding lightly.

France frowns some more. "When is the circus?" He asks, trying to take his mind off of the fact that America and England share a bedroom when England comes over to America... _That English bastard! How could he possibly even think of doing _that_ sort of thing when they just got into a relationship! This is against the laws of l'amour!_

"_You sleep with my brother?" _Asks Canada, his violet eyes fixed on England, who stiffens.

"W-Well, yes, b-but it's not like _that..._!" The Brit stutters nervously.

"My brother," Canada says in a voice that makes England shiver with fear, "Is one of the few people in the world that I would die for. And if you hurt him, I will skin you alive and feed you to my bears. Do I make myself clear?"

"C-Crystal!"

"Good."

Then, America walks in. "Well, we have about two hours before we have to leave for the circus! What do you guys want to do until then?" He asks with a giant grin on his face.

"How about truth or dare?" Canada suggests.

* * *

**Hey guys! Truth or dare, eh? How about you guys review with some questions you think the FACE family should ask each other! If you want it to go to a specific person, or asked by a specific person, just say so! Have a nice day, and I hope you like the update! **


	9. Chapter 9

And so, America, Canada, France, and England all sat down to play a game of truth or dare.

"Oh! Oh! Can I go first?" America asks excitedly.

Everyone says 'yes' in one way or another, and so America says "France! Truth or dare?"

"Hmmm... I pick... Truth."

America smiles, "Alright!" Canada leans over and whispers something in America's ear, and when they pull away, America says "Describe your crush to us!" and then smiles.

France turns scarlet, looking around nervously "...My crush... Erm... Well... He has blonde hair... And blue eyes... And he's really sweet, and nice, and funny... He always seems to have this glow that surrounds him, and his smile is like sunlight..."

America smiles, though something inside him feels... Off. A little bit of jealousy has risen up in him. To see France so in love... It... It made him angry for some reason. Even though he should have everything he wants right in front of him. England. _But is England what I want? _He thinks to himself.

"Your turn, papa." says Canada.

"Alright... Angleterre."

"Truth," England replies, not trusting France with a dare.

Once again, Canada leans forward, though this time he whispers for a little longer, as France seems to have shot down his first few ideas. After a few more seconds, "What was your first kiss? Tell the story!" France says, smiling.

England feels his cheeks reddening, and he says, "Um... My first kiss... Was with... Sp-Sp-Spain. We were out drinking late one night, and after a few drinks we had went back to my place... And we kissed for a while... And that lead to some... _Other things..._ And that's it."

"Oh my GOD." America says, laughing.

"Sh-Shut up! I bet your first kiss wasn't any better!" England says.

America shrugs, "I saved mine for a while... My first kiss was only like a few decades ago. Amelia Earhart." Then, blushing from the stares, says, "Alright! It's your turn, Iggy! Ask someone~"

"Alright. I choose Canada."

"I pick dare!" Canada says happily.

"Alright... I dare you to..." America leans over and whispers in England's ear. England turns scarlet, and then looks back at Canada. "Alright... I dare you to stay in your underwear for the nest six turns."

Canada smiles lightly, turning a deep red. "You _would _pick something like that, Alfie." And with that, he begins stripping down, until he's only in his Canadian flag boxers, then he turns to America and smiles sweetly. "Okay! Dear brother, do you choose truth or dare?"

"DARE!" America says happily.

"Alright... I dare you to streak down the street."

America looks at his brother incredulously. "M-Mattie!"

"Unless you're too chicken?" Matthew grins.

Turning redder than a tomato, America unbuttons his white dress shirt, occasionally fumbling with the buttons. England's jaw drops as America pulls it off, (and maybe he drooled just a little bit... Don't judge, you bloody git!) then throws it onto Canada's lap. Next he pulls off his pants, then his socks, then his glasses, and throws them onto Canada's lap. France, his eyes glued to America's red face, finds himself also extremely red. America walks out of the room, and in a few seconds, his underwear comes flying into the room and lands in Canada's lap. France lets out a high-pitched squeal and grabs a tissue to stifle his nosebleed, along with England.

Canada stands up, throws the clothes into England's lap and says, "I'm gonna go make sure he does it."

* * *

Five minutes later and America is sitting in the circle again, fully clothed and is redder than one of Romano's tomatoes mixed with one of France's red roses. "D-Damn you, Mattie..." He stutters, not appreciating the smirk on his brother's face.

A few seconds later, America's embarrassment seems to have vanished, as his face is lit up with his usual knee-weakening grin, and he is talking excitedly to England about the ferris wheel at night, which will apparently be really pretty.

France clears his throat, bringing America back to focus on the game. "England, I choose you!"

"Truth."

"Hm..." America spends a few minutes thinking about this, then asks "If I was any food, what would I be, and would you eat me?"

England smiles. "You would, of course, be a hamburger, and yes, I'd eat you." England says, a blush forming on his cheeks.

* * *

After playing truth or dare for another hour, they leave for the carnival, France casually slinging his arm over America's shoulder and leading him to the backseat with him, much to England's anger and protests. America had simply blushed at the arm around his shoulder, feeling a sense of warmth at being so close to France, and a slight spark of excitement and energy. It was as if France was like fire, and he was a firework, being lit off with a simple touch.

America shakes his head. _I have to stop thinking about France! I have a perfectly nice boyfriend right in front of me! England! _Yes, he was in love with England. Cozy, cranky, cute England. Not, under any circumstances, sophisticated, fiery, handsome France. No, it was definitely England. Plus, France would never go for him, anyway. America was much too immature. And France would never want to date anything that England had dated before, America was sure of this.

"Amérique, how is your side?" Asks France, referring to the wound from the knife America had gotten after being almost-kidnapped.

"It's doing pretty well... Not healing as fast as my cuts usually do, for some reason, but I'm sure it's just because I haven't been cut badly like this in a while, and my body's not used to it," America shrugs lightheartedly, blushing further when France opens the car door for him.

"Your body should never get used to cuts and scrapes. You are much too beautiful to harm in such a way, and I pity the monster who lost their soul when they decided to inflict pain upon you." France says softly, his light blue eyes landing upon the scar on America's cheek. A jolt of anger runs through him as he remembers the terrified expression on America's face, and then the way he slammed into the hard cement, making mud and dirt fly everywhere.

Oh how his heart had stopped when he had seen the flash of America's blue eyes as he was dragged backward into the alley, and then how it had dropped into the pit of his stomach when he turned the corner, only to find four different men, all rummaging through America's pockets, all touching him at the same time. All of their hands on his beloved America at once... Shoving him backwards into a wall and violating him... Grabbing his wrists and ankles, holding him against his will... There was no greater sin, in France's opinion, than to take the pureness out of something pure. And when those devils were putting their hands all over his America, the purest angel of them all... It was the ultimate sin. Just _thinking _about what those men would have done to America if he hadn't been there makes France want to take America away, somewhere where nothing like that ever happened, and keep him there forever.

America hops into the car, having not heard France's comment, and leans back into one of the leather seats with a sigh of happiness, not realizing the way France's hand slowly inched toward his, then took it, then intertwined their fingers, and having not the slightest idea that France ever-so-slightly grabbed the top of his head and pushed it downwards so that it would fall into the crook of the Frenchman's neck as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

America's blue eyes flutter open ten minutes later. He squints. Something is blocking his vision... Is it... Blonde hair?! America slowly pulls his head out of the crook of the mystery person's neck, blushing wildly. His eyes meet and lock with France's, and he turns an even deeper red. France smiles lightly.

_He's so cute... And so innocent... He's like my very own angel... _Thinks France, staring at America lovingly.

America's eyelids start to droop again. "I hope you don't mind if I go back to sleep..." America says. "I feel really tired for some reason..." America closes his eyes, resting his head on France's shoulder and breathing out contentedly.

Though it's a gift like no other to have the American so close, France can't help but worry. America had been quite strange lately... He had superhuman strength, so why couldn't he fight off those three people who had tried to hurt him? And he had been really drowsy for quite a while now... Of course, he tried to hide it, and France was sure he hid it well around most people, but most people didn't bother to take a closer look at America. France always did.

Another few minutes and their at the carnival.

France nudges America gently, "time for the carnival, Amérique," he says in a light tone.

America opens his eyes again and smiles lopsidedly at the Frenchman in front of him, making France's heart race and causing his face to heat up. _S-So cute!_

Immediately, America composes himself, his normal energy returning to him.

"YAY!" He yells, jumping out of the car with a bright grin.

England smiles and steps out of the car. Immediately, America reaches out and intertwines their fingers, his face turning red.

England turns as red as a tomato and stutters out "Y-You bloody g-git!" while staring at their hands.

America's grin widens. "Wanna go do some stuff that couples do?" He asks, "There's the Ferris Wheel, the Tunnel of Love, we could share a cotton candy..." The American turns a light shade of pink.

"W-Well, I-I guess that would be..." England hesitates, "You're such a twat, America!" then he lowers his voice, "O-of course I would..."

America screams "YAY!" again, and then immediately drags England off to the Ferris Wheel, leaving France alone with Canada.

* * *

For the rest of the evening, France had been walking around with Canada.

"It's really weird that you have a crush on my brother, papa..." Canada says.

France shrugs, watching America disappear in the crowd. "Believe me, mon petit, I did not plan it."

"Do you regret it?"

France turns to face Canada.

"There may have been times when I regretted falling in love very much. At first I thought it was simply lust... But then when I tried to..." France coughs and squirms under his son's intense gaze, "Erm... When I tried to do _that_... I found that I could not bring myself to use my charm."

_France, having newly uncovered some... feelings towards America, had walked into the Meeting Room holding a red rose in his hand, and his usual charming grin, his thoughts occupied by something along the lines of "How easy would it be to get naïve America in bed?" and "How good was he once they got there?" When he had opened the double doors, though, he found himself suddenly frozen. America's handsome face was lit up as he laughed and joked with Lithuania... It was a sight so beautiful to France that he barely heard America call him over the beating of his heart. On his way to America, he had dropped the rose into the trash, unable to even think about what he was planning as he stared into the bright blue eyes of the man who had unknowingly stolen his heart._

"When I realized it was not lust... Let's just say I did not take it well. My first thought was that Angleterre had tried to make a love potion or spell, and somehow got it into my drink. I was convinced something was wrong with me, and that the only way to find out was to visit him."

_Two days after the Meeting Room situation, which France had spent staring, entranced, at America, he was knocking on that same person's door, holding a single red rose. (Again.) America had opened the door wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. And France had gotten a nosebleed. Right then and there, he had dropped the rose onto the cement and stomped it underneath his expensive black dress shoe, desperately trying to keep his blue eyes on America's face. And for the second time, he couldn't bring himself to do what he had been planning. _

"Every time I looked at him, I fell even more..." France trails off, lost in thought.

_Everything about him was irresistible. Every time his entrancing blue eyes met France's, it was impossible to look away... Every time he asked something of France, it was impossible to say no... Every time that giant grin was directed at the Frenchman, it was impossible not to grin back, impossible to stifle the feeling of joy and accomplishment at causing America's joy... Everything about America was impossibly beautiful, and France loved him even more for that..._

_Finally, France had come to the conclusion that he had to stop this silly infatuation with America before it got out of control, and he actually felt compelled to commit to one person, to get married and stay by America's side forever. No, that could not happen. He was the country of love, and he was supposed to spread it to all, not just one person. And even if it was to only one person, it would certainly not be ditzy, stupid, un-fashionable America, who knew nothing about love whatsoever! __And so, he decided that, at the next World Meeting, he would refrain from looking, speaking, or even thinking about America. _

_Still, though, as he walked into the Meeting Room, it was impossible to tame his racing heart, even if he kept his head down and refused to look at America. Deliberately looking far away from America, he sits down in his chair and immediately starts a conversation with Seychelles. _

_Soon, the meeting ends, and it's time to go. Hurriedly, France gathers up his papers, and is about to leave, when he feels a gloved hand on his wrist, which forces him backward. When he turns around to face America, his heart immediately starts pounding wildly. _

_Those beautiful blue eyes... So hard to look away... America asks France if he did anything wrong. France says he didn't. America releases his wrist and invites him to coffee. France, almost against his will, (for those blue eyes _surely _must have some sort of compulsion power, if France simply cannot resist obeying America) says that would be lovely, and promptly follows America out of the Meeting Room, across a few streets, through an alleyway, and to a cozy little coffee shop. _

"Your brother is something I cannot resist." France says to Canada.

"If you hurt him, I swear to god..."

"I would kill myself before I even thought of hurting Amérique."

* * *

England watched happily as the sparkling blue pendant (the color of America's eyes) swung in front of France, and eventually made him become relaxed in the chair. Somehow, England had convinced France that it would be a good idea to become hypnotized. The Brit snickers at how surprisingly easy it was. All he had to do was compliment France's home and tell him that America had broken up with him, and that the Frenchman could have him.

"Can you hear me?" England asks, watching as France's face shifts into a small, drowsy smile.

"...Oui..." He was so tired... and that voice... It was so pretty_..._

"When you see Alfred, you will do something to make him angry with you. Understood?" England smiles. He could make France lose his love for America, yes... But this would be better. America would hate him, and France would be stuck with the guilt. _Serves him right for trying to take my America,_ thinks England.

France shifts just a tiny bit in the chair. Something about what that voice wanted him to do... It didn't seem right... Alfred... That name was familiar... Such a nice name... Alfred... Ah, that's right, _Alfred. _Alfred Jones, personification of the United States of America. But why would France want to make him angry? France loved America... Loved him with his mind, his body, his heart, and his soul... Loved him more than anything else... He would never want to hurt America...

France was waking up. His eyelids were opening, and he caught a glimpse of the Brit in front of him. A pang of recognition runs through him. Now, France was fighting. He _knew _what was happening. He knew what England was doing to him. He knew if he didn't do something right now, he would lose himself, and then maybe America too. And so, he starts moving. The voice was becoming less beautiful and more dull, plain, and flat out annoying.

England, sensing France's awareness of the situation, says "_Sleep" _in a firm tone. England repeats this over and over, smirking when he sees France's eyelids starting to droop.

_Don't, _France tells himself. Even so, he finds himself complying, and closes his eyes, sinking into the chair. _No! _His eyelids flicker. _Don't listen... Alfred... Alfred... _Things were fading away, but still France was holding his ground. He would not make America angry. Then he would never have a chance with him at all... _Alfred... _Who was Alfred, again? Something was telling France that this Alfred was important, but he couldn't seem to remember why_. _

_"You will make him angry with you." _

And then, France can't remember anything at all. He becomes completely limp, giving his mind up to the lovely voice.

England smiles as France murmurs his compliance.

"When you awake, you will not remember that you were in this trance. Understood?"

"Oui..."

"Good. You may awaken as soon as I am gone." England says, standing up, he walks out of the Frenchman's house, and then drives away a few minutes later.

France blinks.

"I must have fallen asleep..." He says to himself, looking around.

Then, looking at the bouquet of red roses on the table, he jumps up. How could he have forgotten that he was going to give these to America tomorrow?! He looked at the clock, and lets out a noise of surprise. He only had a half an hour before his flight left! And so, France grabs his suitcases and rushes to his car, already planning out what he was going to say when he arrived at America's house. How lucky was he that America had invited him to stay at his house for World Meeting week?


	11. Chapter 11

France's mind was failing him. He was going insane, there was no other explanation for his thoughts. The more time he spent sitting on the couch with America, the more he thought about the best ways to make America angry, and it was beginning to scare him.

Why would be possibly want to make his beloved angry with him? Why would he want to make America, the most wonderful person in the world, hate him? It was insane. It was crazy. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it!

_Would pulling his curl make him mad? He doesn't let anyone touch it... _

America, oblivious to France's thoughts, chuckles at something on the TV, tilting his head to the side and giving France a perfect view of Nantucket... And France's mind is thrown into turmoil. He should do it. No, he shouldn't. He has to! But he loves America, why would he want to!? France can _feel _his control slipping away. This was too much. He couldn't not make America mad, but couldn't make America mad either! How would he live with the guilt of knowing he had hurt his one true love?!

Even so, he finds himself jumping off the couch, then seizing America's wrists. He shoves America into the wall, not bothering to think about how, even though America was struggling, he couldn't escape, even though he was one of the strongest nations... Then, he reaches out, his hand a mere inch from America's cowlick when America says—

"France, d-don't!" in a pleading and surprisingly weak tone.

The Frenchman freezes. He sounded so... So afraid and fragile... It was... Cute, in a way, but it also made France worried. He suddenly notes how America is unable to shove him away, even with one hand and both of his legs free. His fingers twitch, and America weakly mumbles "Please...?"

France releases his wrists, taking a step away. How in hell had he even thought of doing something like that?! How could he have even wondered what it would be like to _violate, _to _contaminate _his pure America with such forced methods?! How could he have come so close to doing such a thing?!

"I-If you really wanted to know what Nantucket does, you could have just asked Mattie..." America says, still staying against the wall.

France glances at him, and the overwhelming feeling of desire fills him. America, so pure and innocent, to shaken to even back away from the wall... _It would, no doubt, be easy to overpower him... _

"I-I...!" France turns pink, watching as the American walks forward.

Suddenly, the younger nation takes both of France's hand in his, sending chills up the Frenchman's spine. France looks down, but America cups his chin and forces him to look upward. Immediately, France loses his train of thought, instead his head filled with how wonderful and entrancing America's blue eyes were, and how wonderful it would be to dive into them and stay there forever...

Slowly, America leans forward, until his lips are a mere centimeter from France's. Now, the Frenchman can't think properly at all. The way America's hands started to find their way into his blonde hair made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end... They way America's hot breath graced his lips made him turn entirely red... And America's blue eyes, so hypnotizing, so beautiful... France wanted nothing more than to stare into them forever...

America, in a seductive voice, murmurs "If you really want to know, why don't you find out?" in France's ear, "I think you'd enjoy it... I get very weak... That means complete control for you... Don't you want it, hmm? To make me yours forever?"

France gulps and nods, reaching out. Yes, of course he wanted America to be his forever! And so, he pulls America's cowlick...

Someone gasping brings France out of his daydream, and he finds himself clutching America's cowlick, having reached out for it in his fantasy, and now America was taking in sharp breaths, his knees wobbling and his face entirely red.

"F-F-France..." America gulps, his body trembling.

The Frenchman, his curiosity getting the better of him, tugs it again, and America moans, lunging at France as his knees give out in an attempt to keep himself upright. One final tug from France and America dissolves completely, practically melting into France's chest and clutching desperately to the older man's white dress shirt.

"Fr-Fra..." America's mind is racing. Nantucket made him... Ah... Not aroused, necessarily, more like... It made him weak, made him feel like he needed to rely on others. Also, the person who was holding it, pulling it, stroking it, etc., could make him do anything... Soon, he would most likely be giving France the promise of his will, of his mind, of his heart. Nantucket made his emotions rather jumbled, and this was usually why, if anyone wanted anything from America, they would do what France was doing. Because America was so weak and confused whenever this happened, it was hard to do much of anything but try to keep himself upright and agree to their terms until they stopped.

"S-S-Stop! Pl-lease!" America says.

The reaction is instantaneous. France lets go of America's cowlick, dropping both of his hands. "I-I'm sorry!"

Then, the door bursts open, and America, still gasping and bright red, is being wrenched away from France and into a glaring England's arms.

"I _told _you he would try something!" England says, patting America's head, "He can't be trusted! He's a pervert! He was going to try something with you!"

America, his knees still wobbling and a deep blush still, stares at France with hurt in his eyes.

_How could France do that after I asked him not to?_

The Frenchman looks at his hands, then at America, then at England, whose lips are upturned just the slightest bit as he looks at France.

"Non! That was not my intention! I just...! I... I...!"

America, having regained the ability to speak, grabs both of France's unopened suitcases and hands them to the Frenchman. "Just... Just go away..."

France, shocked and angry with himself, can feel tears threatening to spill as America ushers him to the door. The younger shoves him outside into a dark night, and shuts the door.

* * *

**...How could England make France do that?! **


	12. Chapter 12

America was going insane. In between sweet, soft kisses from England that rendered him brain-dead for minutes at a time, his thoughts were occupied by a certain blue-eyed Frenchman. He just couldn't bring himself to believe that France would really do something like that to him... Something didn't seem right about the whole thing... France had told him he would never force love upon anyone, and he had seemed so sincere... America was becoming very upset.

He wanted England to be wrong about France being a pervert _so much_. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something had definitely changed about the Frenchman during the month he'd been with England. Sure, he had been feeling a little bit of 'the butterflies' with France for about a week before he got into a relationship with England, but he was sure this was no mere case of puppy love anymore. No, America was thinking that this might be the beginning of... _Love._

But every time he said something to England, Nantucket would be pulled (which, for some unexplained reason, didn't bother him when England did it) and then the Brit would be pushing the weakened America backwards into the couch, entangling his long fingers in America's golden hair, kissing his neck, turning on the charming smile that he rarely used on America, stroking Nantucket and making America moan, then kissing him passionately. This usually rendered America incapable of speech for at least ten minutes, and left England in an interrupted state of ecstasy. How the hell had he gotten so lucky? Finally, America was all his, no fights, no nonsense from anybody.

Just pure, plain love. Well, somewhat. England usually pushed the thought that America only felt the way he did because of mind manipulation to the back of his mind. And it _certainly_ never came up when America was leaning forward and pressing his sweet lips to the Brit's. Yes, things had been great, mostly. Apart from the occasions when America was too far for England to pull Nantucket, the Brit would be forced to console America verbally that France was, indeed, a no-good pervert who only valued people on looks. It took a little bit of convincing, (and much talk of how beautiful the sunset and sunrise were) but America would eventually agree, and then there would be a make-out session and some movies. The past six World Meeting days had been spent this way, and it was the best week of England's life... Almost. The last thing on his agenda was to, for lack of better terms, get America "in the sack" tonight, for the first time.

And so, England walks into the living room where America is sitting sideways on the couch, his legs and arms splayed across it. His eyes abruptly snap away from the TV when England suddenly grabs him by his tie and pulls him off the couch. The Brit then lifts America's hand and takes the tip of his gloves in his teeth and pulls it off with a wink that sends America into a fit of nervous butterflies and blushing. England smiles at America's reaction and leans forward, placing both hands on the fur of America's bomber jacket, he slowly pulls it off, trailing his fingers across the beige shirt America wore underneath. (_Bloody hell, America wore a lot of layers! Doesn't he ever get hot in that much clothing? And it's thick, too_!)

America lets out a high-pitched squeak as England grabs him by the tie and pulls him into the nearest bedroom, then shoves him onto the bed, a playful smile on his face. America, in shock, only watches as England crawls across the bed in a very tempting manner, making America's heart race even more. Then, England is right there, his chest pressed to America's, and his breath is hot and warm on the younger's face... England grabs America's tie and pulls it off, then starts unbuckling the blonde's belt.

_No, _America's mind suddenly screams as he finds himself reaching out to undo to buttons on England's green shirt. He freezes. He was remembering something...

_"You will fall desperately in love with me..."_

America lets go of England's buttons just as the Brit pulls off his white t-shirt, making the top half of his body completely nude._ Crap._ He blushes even more when he realizes his pants are unbuttoned, revealing the top of his American Flag boxers, and that England was slowly inching them off of him. America reaches out (most likely to push England away) but then the Brit is stroking Nantucket, and America's arm trembles and then falls. "A-Ah...!"

Then, the wooden door slams open, making England jump and America let out a small moan of surprise, revealing a disheveled France, who had remembered what England had done to him about a half hour ago, and had rushed over to warn America that England was tricking him.

Upon seeing America blushing and stuttering with wobbly knees, (England was pulling his cowlick) pressed up against the wooden headboard, and barely dressed at all, with England on top of him, and almost fully clothed, rage bubbled up inside of France. Especially because America was trying his hardest to resist (because now he could remember exactly what England had been doing) and he couldn't do it because the stupid Brit wouldn't take his hands off that damned cowlick! England gives it a very strong tug, guaranteeing him at least five minutes for him to beat up France while America was still weakened.

America gasps sharply, his face (which the red had been draining out of) turns as red as one of Spain's tomatoes, and he moans "E-E-Eng...!" before the arms that had been supporting him give out, and he falls backward against the plush mattress.

France growls angrily. "How_ dare_ you do this to him?!" And grabs England by his neck, then slams him into the wall, which receives an England-sized hole that will later have to repaired. "How _dare_ you turn Amérique into some kind of toy?! How _dare_ you force him to love you?! Release him! NOW!"

"S-Sunset!" England chokes out, wildly clawing at France's hand, which prevents air from reaching his lungs.

France watches as all the red drains from America's face, and he falls limply against the mattress. His violet orbs narrow, staring into England's green ones.

"Make him unable to be put under any sort of mind manipulation!" France says, squeezing England's neck a little tighter.

The Brit struggles to intake oxygen as he yells, "W-When you awake, y-you will loose the ability t-to—" England takes in another sharp breath—"h-have your mind man-manipulated!"

"And take away any false feelings you have given him, or anything else you might have done to him." France says. For a minute, it looks as England will refuse, and then France squeezes England's neck to the point where tears spring to the Brit's eyes. Harsh, maybe, but France would not tolerate _anything_ that threatened his one and only. After all, he was the country of love, and after living without someone for so long, he knew how important it was to find the person you knew you wanted to spend the rest of you life with, and to protect them from anyone or anything that may be a danger to their safety, mental or physical.

"Y-You will b-be just like y-you were before I v-visited—" Breath— "you th-three months ag-go!" England was turning blue... "Sunrise!"

And by the time America has awoken from his trance, England was thrown out the door along with his bags, and France was kneeling beside him, kissing his hand and asking for forgiveness.


	13. Chapter 13

"Alfred... I'm so sorry... I would never... I would never even think of manipulating you that way, I promise! Angleterre manipulated me the way he did you... Please forgive me!" France asks, looking up into America's wide blue eyes, a hint of desperation in his tone.

The past five days had been pure _torture _for France. America wouldn't even look at him during the World Meetings... Then, to make it even worse, America and England had been taking regular 'closet breaks' for about two days when they both decided they couldn't even make it, and were kissing each other non-stop during the meetings, resulting in furious yelling from almost all of the other nations. Needless to say, all of the nations were fed up with the endless flirting and kissing between the two nations. (Except for Japan and Hungary.)

What angered France the most, though, was how much England took for granted about America. Those sweet grins that came so often to the American's face were beautiful, yet England had never once commented on the way his smile was like the sun itself. On no occasion had he told America how deep and beautiful and bright his blue eyes were, or how wonderful his hair looked when the sun came through the window. England hadn't said anything about how wonderful America was, how sweet, how kind, how truly beautiful and amazing the younger was, even when America gave England a gift France would kill to have: his love. America showered England in the light that always seemed to follow him, wrapped England up in warmth with a simple touch, but the Brit never noticed. He was ungrateful. He had never even bought America a gift for anything, even when America brought him gifts!

France, on the other hand, was so wrapped up in America that everything the younger did was something to be cherished. Even as he was being pushed out the door, France had noted the way America's hand felt on his back, the way he gently pushed France out the door, the way his eyes had lingered longer than they should have as they closed the door on the Frenchman...

America turns pink and stares at France, dumbfounded. "I-I—"

"I'll never do anything like that again!" France says pleadingly. More than anything else in the world, he wanted America's forgiveness. He wanted this beautiful young man to let him stay close, let him be showered and enveloped in his warmth...

"Y-You don't have to beg... I totally understand... I can't believe... I can't believe England loves me..." America lets out a small laugh, "I never thought anyone would love me like that... I never thought _I _would love anyone like that, either... Even if it was fake, it felt good to be in love, y'know?"

"Oui, I know exactly what you mean. I am the country of l'amour, after all." France says, standing up, ecstatic at being forgiven.

America smiles lightly, scooting over a little bit and allowing France to sit next to him. France does, but only after gathering all of America's clothes and politely asking the American to put them on again. There was only so much of America he could handle at one time...

"Must be great, to be the country of love..." America muses, looking out the window at the moon.

"Not when the one you love is in love with another. Then it's very not-great."

"Has that ever happened to you?" America asks, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oui," France says simply.

"With who? Maybe I could help you win them over! You're a really attractive guy," America blushes a little, "and I can't think of anyone who wouldn't like you once they got to know you! Plus, I'mma hero, so I won't rest until you're happy!" America grins.

"That's very kind, but it's not that simple... You see... The person I love... I would not want to force myself upon them. He has been through a lot in a short amount of time, and I believe it was quite hard on him. Especially now."

"Oh. Well, if you think so... Who is it, though? Who's the lucky dude?" America can hear a little voice in the back of his head that says _please let it be me... _Quickly, he stamps this thought down. _France would never love me like that... I'm too young and ditzy and immature. He needs someone sophisticated and smart, someone handsome and nice. Not me. _

France leans forward, placing a hand on America's cheek. The younger freezes, then turns to stare at the Frenchman with wide eyes. France leans forward, his enchanting blue eyes wide open. He stares at the American with such fire in his eyes that America feels he might melt.

France takes a deep breath, pulling America closer until their lips are almost touching, and says "You, Alfred. I love you."

America's breath catches in his throat. "M-Me?"

"Oui." France says simply, letting his hands fall away from America's face. The only explanation for America's stuttering was that he didn't feel even remotely the same as France. He stands up, smoothing out the bed sheets with his hand.

America grabs his hand and wrenches him backward, stopping France when their noses are touching.

"A-Amérique!" France says, "What...?"

And America, his cheeks burning and eyes boring into France's, says something that fills France with immense joy.

* * *

_"I may not be in love just yet, but I'd love to go on a date next Friday." _France recites, taking both of America's hands in his.

The crowd laughs, but it all seems very distant. All he could see was his America. Yes, _his _America.

Here they were, America wearing white and France black. The tears were springing to France's eyes. America smiles and wipes them away with his thumbs, smiling.

"Hon, the rings." He whispers, and France notices America is slipping a ring onto his finger.

"O-Oh." France says, blushing. He pulls America's ring out and puts it onto America's finger.

"I may not have been in love then, but I am now." America says, leaning forward, he presses his lips to France's.

The world dissolves. France pulls America closer, his arms finding their way around America's neck. The crowd is cheering and laughing and crying. The two pull apart, America laughing.

"How about that, Francais? We just got married."

And France is so ecstatic, he smiles and nods, kissing America again after the American says something about "Francais Jones."

* * *

**The End? **


	14. Chapter 14

England opened the door and peered into America's house, smiling lightly. "Happy Birthday, America!" He calls, squeezing his love's hand.

"Happy Birthday, Alfred!" Seychelles yells too, pecking England's cheek lightly.

"Thanks, Iggy!" America yells, "Hey, come around back! Francey-pants and I have something we wanna show you!"

America had forgiven England the day after he was kicked out by France. England hadn't forgiven himself, but America didn't really care. He said it felt great to be in love, and thanked England for the experience. Things were a little awkward for England at first, but he quickly forgot about the whole thing, and Canada only had to beat England to a pulp twice, so all-in-all, things worked out pretty well.

"Alright, alright." England says, shooting Seychelles a curious look.

She shrugs, her brown eyes glittering, and pulls England into the living room, where America is... Making airplane noises? Someone giggles as England rounds the corner.

The Brit and his wife freeze.

America is holding a girl who looks to be about seven years old above his head, making "whoosh!" and "werrrr" sounds as he moves the child about in the air. The girl giggles, her blue eyes (which are the same color as France's) lighting up in joy. Her hair is brown and comes only a little past her ears, and curls at the ends, making her look very cute. One single hair sticks out the top of her head, just like America's. She grins widely, reminding everyone even more of America. France smiles from the couch, watching America hoist the girl into the air, loving the bright grin on his face as he does so. Her small blue dress billows out, and a pair of brown cowgirl boots is visible underneath.

"Daddy do it again!" She exclaims in a voice like a girly-version of America's, only she has a French accent.

"In a minute, sweetie. First, let's meet some people."

The girl turns around, her big blue eyes blinking, and England practically melts from the cuteness.

"...You mean the pretty girl and the guy with the big eyebrows?"

America laughs loudly. "Yes, them." He stands up, then grabs her by her hand and yanks her up into his arms, carrying the giggling girl over to England and Seychelles.

"This is your aunt and uncle, Arthur and Michelle, AKA England and Seychelles." America says, watching as she holds out her small hand to both of them.

England stares, too shocked to shake it, so Seychelles does, smiling widely.

"It's wonderful to meet you!" She exclaims.

"England, Seychelles, this Celeste Jones-Bonnefoy, AKA the Republic of Saugeais. Our daughter."

The young girl holds out her hand, and England takes it, a tear of joy slipping out the corner of his eye. "A pleasure to meet you." He says.

"...Daddy, why is Uncle Arthur crying?" Celeste asks, turning her head to look at America.

France stands up and moves behind Alfred, putting a hand on the younger's shoulder.

"Because you're so beautiful," England says, the words 'Uncle Arthur' echoing in his head. It sounded good. "And I'm so proud and happy."

Celeste turns lightly pink, as does America.

"Like father like daughter," Seychelles muses, looking at America and Celeste's identical expressions.

She then turns and squeezes England's hand, looking into his eyes. "Well, can you believe it? We're an aunt and uncle, Arthur."

America grins as France kisses Celeste's and America's cheeks.

"Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime, mama."

"I love you too, Francais."

* * *

That night, France, holding a sleeping Celeste in his arms, stands up. "Our belle fille fallen asleep, Alfred." He looks down into the sleeping girl's face and smiles.

Alfred mimics his love, standing up. "Let's take her to her bedroom, then."

They lay her down in her bed, pull the covers over her head, kiss her forehead, and then walk to their own bedroom.

France opens his arms and wraps America in them, then pulls him onto the bed.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, and, on a plane headed for London, England and Seychelles had just done the same thing.

* * *

Meanwhile, Canada had just awoken a boy and got him dressed for the day. The boy had his father's chocolate brown eyes and his father's dark skin. He had Canada's sweetness, mixed in with a little of his father's attitude.

"Thanks, mama." The five-year-old boy says, looking up into Canada's eyes.

"No problem, Alvaro." Replies Canada, smiling.

And he leads L'Anse Saint-Jean, Quebec, out to his father, Cuba.

* * *

**The Republic of Saugeais is a self-proclaimed micro-nation in Eastern France. The reason she looks like America is because I decided France would give America half of her land in celebration of their marriage. (That is not historically or geographically correct, in case you didn't know.) So... Yeah. Also, Celeste is a French name~**

**L'Anse Saint-Jean, Quebec is a micro-nation, too... The name Alvaro means 'Noble Guardian' and is a Cuban name. Hehe. **

**I hope you enjoyed finding how England, France, Seychelles, America, and Canada, and Cuba's lives turned out. **

**~THE END~**


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